The Drusian Tapestry
by SDWilson
Summary: A small group of friends set down a path unaware that they are the pawns in an ancient battle between the Gods and primordial forces outside of reality which strive to unravel everything. The introduction The Black Butterfly and 7 chapter The Gathering, book 1 of 6 or 7, now posted.
1. 1 The Black Butterfly

**A/N This is the introduction to The Drusian Tapestry. Following it is The Gathering, the 7 chapter first book (of 6 to 8 books) of the complete story. It is inspired by a combination of the Kingmaker Adventure Path (I haven't played the video game) as well as a variety of PFRPG sources that are too many to count.**

The black water extended indefinitely and the thunder of its churning filled the void as it rolled and broke. Lightning danced across the infinite horizon in too many colors to comprehend.

She blinked and stared at the blackness which surrounded her. _Where am I?_ She asked the question to no one in particular and did not utter words when she did so, they were simply her thoughts made manifest. _This is not the void I was dancing through a moment before_. Fear grew in her but she restrained it. _I must find my way._ Her great wings fluttered and she set forth.

But there were no landmarks in the endless black ocean or stars to guide her path. No matter where she flew, the lightnings remained on the horizon and the endless sea rolled beneath her. Frustration built within her, then she calmed and became motionless despite the turbulence surrounding her. She focused on the lightnings and manifested her will. Rather than fly through the intervening distance between herself and the lightnings, she willed herself there.

Lightning danced around her, striking through her. Colors swirled and blinded her. The titanic sounds deafened her and flattened her. Silence and blackness, and calm followed. Her wings were battered but she rested safely…like a giant butterfly on the palm of an enormous hand. A giant butterfly with a human body, limbs and face that were black as the void. White hair and great black wings bearing the likeness of stars and planets.

_Easy little one_, a powerful and cold voice said without speaking. _You are safe, for the moment_.

_What has happened?_ she asked though no sounds left her mouth. The aches in her body disappeared.

_There is a battle_, answered the voice in her head. _It is already finished and yet it continues through eternity. I have but created a void for you to momentarily rest and regain your strength._

_Thank you_, she answered warmly with but a thought. _I am the Black Butterfly. Who might you be and where am I?_

_My name is not important_, the voice answered. _You have entered the dark primordial ocean from which all that exists will be created, from which all that will ever exist has already been created. The First World will spring from her and all of Reality itself afterward. You have entered the Danu and She is my Mother._

_Your Mother is beautiful_, she answered, hoping to warm the voice's cold demeanor. The Black Butterfly worried momentarily that he may be fighting the Mother she had just complimented but asked anyway, _Who is it you fight? Perhaps I can help._ She always wished to help those in need.

_My brothers and I fight our lesser cousins, and the Hunduns, and the Rough Beast, and others like them throughout existence_, the voice answered with a hint of anger. There was a pause. _You know the Beast. Your Mother fights it now. Others answer the Beast's call just as you answer her call_.

A glimmer of hope formed in her mind. _You know my Mother? You know Desna?_

As she spoke the words, stars shone above her head. She gazed up at their beauty.

The stars vanished.

_Careful_, the great voice admonished. _This Crux here is weak from the battle. The Battle for Existence itself. Control your thoughts and emotions._

_Yes_, the Black Butterfly answered. _How can I help my Mother?_

_Many things are happening_, the great voice said. _The Death of a god is sought to weaken this Crux further. But your Mother has pulled you through the Danu to plant a seed in this Crux. Go now!_

The Black Butterfly felt agony as pain returned to her battered form. The great black ocean appeared over her and engulfed her. The black water was engulfed by an explosion and the concussive force from it crushed her wings and soft torso. As it did so, she knew at that exact same instant, somewhere in time, the god was slain and the Crux of Reality she had visited was weakened further. The Black Butterfly knew the Age of Lost Omens had begun. She knew that at that same instant, somewhere else in time, the Pillar of Reality who had spoken to her was ended and the Crux she had visited was weakened to the point of threatening reality itself.

Her crumpled form slipped back into the void between the stars. The pain and hurt to her body should have been gone but it wasn't. The Black Butterfly knew her wounds would take long to heal and ignored them. One thing clung to her mind. The name of the Crux.

**Golarion**


	2. 2 The Gathering chapter 1

_Scrublands on the border of Numeria and the Protectorate of the Black Marquis, early in the year 4710 Absalom Reckoning on the world of Golarion_

The muddy ground buckled beneath her feet and she stumbled but her arm reflexively reached out and caught hold of a cold steel rail. Cold rain dropped on her back and all around her. She stared at the ground beneath her feet as it continued to move.

But it wasn't ground she was staring at.

_A Deck?_ she thought. _Please. Not here, not now._ She raised herself up and stared over the rail for a moment. The dark and choppy water was rolling by impossibly fast but she paid it no mind. Flashes of light danced like lightning across the dark water on the horizon and thunder rolled through the clouds as the rain dropped around her. _It doesn't smell like lightning_, she thought. Other smells filled her nostrils. The smell of salt and the faint smell of the bottom feeders turned up by the rough water were smells she was familiar with. Other smells weren't so familiar. A rancid smell similar to fish oil filled the air and she caught the faintest smell of mercury with it. The rain brought down with it a faint smell like wine fermenting into vinegar and other odors that irritated her nose and throat. Sharp and sweet, strong and harsh. Too many to separate.

Heat. A blast of air. Too many smells to comprehend. She crashed face first into the water, her heavy black coat dragging her down. She tried to grab air but water filled her lungs instead.

She coughed out some water and breathed the air.

A strong and continuous wind buffeted her body. The air was warmer too and the smells were different. A fishy, tangy smell and the smell of boiled cabbage. The smell of decomposing seaweed and the smell of the bottom. The smell of worms and algae and bottom feeders as well as decomposing bodies filled her nose. But she was still, lying on something solid. _Where am I?_ She opened her eyes to stare at what she was lying atop. It was a large wooden chest which had grounded in shallow water and she recognized it. _Pa's chest._ At that point she knew the answer to her question. _I'm in the Shackles. Near the eternal hurricane itself, the Eye of Abendego. A century ago when it first formed upon the death of the god Aroden._

The smells of the ocean gave way to those of earth and grass. The hard chest she lay upon changed to soft mud and short grass. She looked through the coarse, black braids of hair dangling in front of her eyes, past the bone necklace hanging from her neck, and at her green hands and long thin fingers buried in the mud. Her knees were buried in the mud too and felt wet through her breeches. Her face was almost over a puddle of water. She coughed up some water. _Was I lying with my face in that?_ She began shaking, then screamed. "O! I need you!" Then she sobbed and cried in a whimper, "Please, not now. I'm alone out here. I don't want to die alone."

She looked again at her green hands and fingers pushed into the mud. _At least I'm me again_, she thought. A pair of black boots stepped into the shallow puddle in front of her head.

She raised up quickly to her knees and pulled her hands out of the mud. The rain dropped into her eyes, blurring her vision, as she tried to focus on the towering figure in front of her. From her position on her knees she could only tell he was tall, but not how tall. His form was long-limbed and he was wearing plate that shined like silver and a black cape that extended nearly to his ankles was draped over his shoulders. But she saw his eyes. Brilliant topaz blue eyes that shone clearly through the drizzle as they stared down at her. Looking into those eyes, she barely noticed the handsome human face surrounding them that was topped by well-groomed long blonde hair and the jaw framed by a well-trimmed blonde beard.

_Is this who I came out here to help?_ Her shaking calmed and she considered the face staring at her for a moment. She said, "I'm Drusada. Who are you?"

He stared at her for a moment with a perplexed look upon his face. "I've known many names." His voice was calm and deep, soothing. "Call me Dietrich. Do you know of the Tuskwater?"

"Yes, I do," Drusada answered. _At least he has a nice voice_, she added to herself. She leaned forward and put her hands back in the mud to lift her knees up.

"You look awful young to be out here by yourself," the nice voice added. "And your eyes are such a pretty blue."

Drusada smiled to herself at the compliment. _Be careful_, she thought. _You don't know if you can trust him_.

"Beware of Orkise," Dietrich said. "I fear he is nearby."

"I will," Drusada replied. She pushed herself up and her knees out of the mud, then brought them up under her and stood. Stood to nothing but barren scrub grass and a drizzle of rain. "Dietrich?" She turned around. Drizzle, barren scrub. No landmarks she recognized. And no Dietrich. The tears began to roll down her face again. "Please, no more," she cried in a whisper. "I don't know how to get back home." The drizzle picked up, still tiny drops, and she could no longer distinguish the rain on her cheeks from her tears.

But despite being exhausted and alone, Drusada didn't quit. She picked a direction and started through the mud and scrub grass, half walking and half stumbling. The drizzle kept coming down.

A slosh of water caught her attention. "Dietrich?" Drusada asked as she looked over her shoulder and reached up to finger the bone necklace around her neck.

In the distance, made hazy by the drizzle, stood a tall figure. It was the tallest orc she had ever seen, dressed in heavy plate armor that was as dark as the void and holding a battleaxe in its enormous green, almost skeletal, hands. The figure's eyes burned a ruby red and were set within a sunken face. Where Dietrich was tall and long-limbed, this strange orc was just as tall but slender to the point of emaciation.

_Are you really there? Who are you?_ Drusada thought to herself as she stared at the figure, frozen.

"Who am I?" the figure asked aloud in orcish, in response to her unspoken question. Asked in Orcish which she recognized as being spoken with a hint of the tongue of giants. "I've been called many things," he said with a deep, guttural laugh. The orc looked around. "Call me Belkzen. Others here have before."

_Belkzen_? Dru asked herself in disbelief. _It can't be._ Realization dawned on her. _I've been called many things_, she said to herself, repeating the big orc's words. _His words parallel Dietrich's_. She made up her mind and spoke aloud. "Are you Orkise?"

The tall orc did not answer her question. "Come to me, my child," he commanded. Drusada's blood turned to ice but the voice pulled at her. She took a step to him.

_Run!_ The voice that screamed into Drusada's head was that of Dietrich. Snapped out of her compulsion, she heeded it and broke into a run.

And stumbled.

But Drusada never hit the ground. An enormous green hand caught her slender arm. She turned, flailing her fists, tears flying from her face. Her strikes thudded against the thick leather-covered chest of a cowled figure to no avail. She looked into the figure's cowl but saw nothing save its red eyes.

"Do no fear, little one," it said with a deep, gravelly voice. The words were in Taldan, but with a heavily Orcish accent as if unaccustomed to speaking the common human language. The figure stood Drusada up and turned her toward a tree line.

She looked back over her shoulder at the figure. It wasn't there.

Drusada turned back to the tree line. _I know where I am now_, she thought. _This is the way home._ A thought struck her as she walked toward the tree line and she smiled. _Dietrich. That name's origin is the language of my forefathers. The Tuskwater will lead me to my answers._


	3. 3 The Gathering chapter 2

_Deadbridge in the Protectorate of the Black Marquis, one of the many countries within the River Nations_

Three days later…

A strong cold wind blew across the land to the Sellen River. The cold sun of early spring shone down upon the swift clear water and the wharf which ran out into it. The wharf was long and solid, made of thick oak planks and built atop huge stone piles that were once part of an ancient bridge which crossed the river. Many homes of fine quality and countless small shops and vendors were scattered along its length. The walkway was filled with a bustling crowd of people, some walking to and fro with others gathered in front of other river folk trying to sell an assortment of wares. There were dark-skinned and light-skinned people. Some with earrings and some with peg legs. Others had straw hats and wore breeches held up by suspenders. Red scarves and black skirts. People of all shapes and sizes, colors and places of origin.

People who called the River Nations home.

Drusada stood with her back to the walkway at a booth. Her head was turned down, staring at a wooden tray lying flat on the small table in front of her. The tray held more than a score of tapestry needles. Some were more than a dozen inches long. Others were far shorter. Some were straight and some had a bent end. Both Drusada's green-skinned hands were overtop the tray, shaking with anticipation, begging her to let them grab one. _Why must I always do this?_ She frowned at herself and concentrated. Her hands stopped moving. _I just know I must._

A cold wind blew, bringing with it the smell of fish and the sweaty odors of countless humans. Drusada shivered. Despite the cold in the air, she had dressed herself in a new linen shirt, a thin and loose-fitting long-sleeved pullover which was tucked into her green wool breeches. Her bone necklace hung around her neck. Drusada returned her focus to the tray in front of her. _Decisions. Decisions._

"Which one will it be this time, Dru?" asked a musical feminine voice.

Drusada looked up to see a smiling dusky skinned face with dark eyes looking at her. A head and face sat upon a busty top about to pop free from the low-cut neck of its white shirt. "I don't know, Carmen," she answered in dejection.

"You've bought more from me than anyone else," Carmen added with a laugh. "But maybe, just maybe, you haven't seen the right one yet today."

The busty woman reached under the table with her hand and Drusada's vision went black. Black except for the stars she saw. A sweet flowery perfume filled her nose and made her head hurt. Drusada's knees buckled and she caught herself on the table's edge with her hands. She shook her head left, then right. As Drusada's vision cleared, she saw a child walking away with a long-stemmed flower clutched in its hand. The flower had violet petals with a black center and its odor drifted through the air and completely dominated Drusada's senses.

"That's a screaming violet poppy," Carmen said. Dru turned back around to face the woman. "They're pretty rare and I don't know why they call it that." Dru blinked her eyes a couple times, trying to focus on Carmen's face. "I'm sorry. I know that your sniffer is exceptional, even when compared to full orcs. I never really thought about how hard that might be at times."

_If only the visions didn't come with the smells_, Dru thought. Her eyes cleared and she looked at what lay in Carmen's hands. A long dark metal tapestry needle. "Where'd you find that?" she asked.

"I just kicked it walking down the road a ten day ago," Carmen answered. "It's old and too heavy. No one's wanted to buy it. It's yours. How about it?"

_O hasn't come back yet with his pay day_, Drusada thought. _I shouldn't buy anything._ She frowned as she stared at the needle, her green hands holding each other tightly in front of her chest to keep from grabbing it.

"Consider it a gift of appreciation for all the wares you've bought from me," Carmen said and reached the needle toward Dru with one hand. "How's your brother Otto Otto doing?"

"O's selling some locks in Outsea. He should be back in a day or two," Dru answered as she stared at the needle. She reached out and gently took it from Carmen's hand, then pulled it closely to her chest with both hands. _Nothing happened? Something always happens. _"Thank you, Carmen," Dru said. She smiled, showing her over-sized bicuspids, tiny tusks that marked her as a half-breed. Half-human and half-orc. She sheepishly lowered her head and whirled around.

Whirled smack into a wall. A wall of fabric.

Dru's nose hurt and she blinked her eyes, clearing the tears away. Her face was buried into the back of a gray greatcoat. A coat which sharply framed the long limbs and broad shoulders of its tall wearer and extended down nearly to his ankles where it revealed black boots. She looked up above the coat's black collar to see the combed black, and slightly greasy, hair on the back of his head. _Pomade? That's what I smell._

He turned around and looked down at her.

Dru felt dizzy and couldn't breathe. The smells she had recognized grew sharper and overwhelmed her. _Not now. Not again. Not here. _A green-skinned face looked down at her with a boyish smile and very small tusks. A half-orc face with green pointed ears but strong human features. His black, slightly greasy hair was short on the sides and tapered to blend into the longer top which was parted on the left and combed over and angled back. Dru lost all concentration and couldn't breathe. _Why can't I have peace?_ Dru cried in her thoughts as she looked at his face. Golden orbs looked down upon her and then the strength of the smells filling her head lowered again to the point of being bearable.

Dru stepped back and looked at him.

He was nearly seven feet tall and had a long slender build with broad shoulders and a vee shaped back. He wore a dark gray vest beneath his gray coat and a white shirt beneath the vest. Black gloves covered his huge hands, one of which held a long black metal cane. Other than the pomade in his hair, Dru only caught the faintest smell of soap from him. But, the musty smell of male cattle filled her nostrils. Behind him were two brindle-colored highland bulls, with their long wooly coats. A yoke between them was attached to a cart loaded with gear.

Dru took a deep breath and focused. "Who are you?" she asked.

He laughed a deep chuckle that carried across the wharf. "You can call me Earl," he answered with his deep, smooth voice.

Dru reached out and touched the gray fabric of the coat covering his chest. "You really are here," she said.

"You don't sound too sure about that," Earl laughed. "To be honest, I'm not too sure either." His gold eyes softened and looked into hers. "I didn't even know my name until I introduced myself to you just now."

A calmness came over Dru and she gave a small smile.

Earl's deep voice interrupted her thoughts. "I walked into town this morning with a bag full of gold and silver but I didn't even know my name. I heard something mentioned about a new settlement being built on somewhere called the Tuskwater and knew I had to go there. Somewhere called Braelton."

_The Tuskwater_, Dru thought. _That's what Dietrich said in my vision_. _Earl's the key to our pasts. I just know it. Now's my chance_, she thought. _I can help him find his way through those who came before him, his forefathers. That's what I do for people. _Focus and a little excitement entered her thoughts. _And through him, me and O can discover our past._

She looked at the cart behind the two bulls. There was a pile of gear hidden under a tarp. Another tarp. Some posts. A collapsible bath. "These are the River Kingdoms. I don't think that cart will take you very far," she said.

"I've already paid passage on a barge," Earl smoothly replied. "Should be leaving in a half hour."

"Half-hour?" Dru screeched.

"Yep," Earl added. "That's what I said."

"You can't," Dru blurted out. Earl cocked his head a little to the side as he watched her. _No! We've waited too long for this key!_ She unconsciously brought her hands up before her face and they shook. Her left hand holding the tapestry needle like a weapon. "Wait, please," she said. "I have to leave a note for my brother but I'm coming with you."

"I'll wait if I have to stake the barge captain to the dock." Another deep chuckle erupted from the tall half-orc. "But don't take too long."

Dru turned without another word and ran through the crowd, hearing Carmen's laughter above all other noises. Carmen's words carried through the air as she talked to Earl. "Dru's always like this."


	4. 4 The Gathering chapter 3

Dru ran off the wharf and into a haphazard cluster of shacks, many missing parts of their walls and some leaning as a result of the poor craftsmanship they were constructed with. Different smells filled her nose than those of the wharf. Her nose was irritated by the acrid smell of smoke in the air. Beyond the smoke, most strong were the smells of human urine and excrement followed by the smells of the unwashed humans who lived there. The smell of wet canine fur and the smell of decomposing food assaulted her nostrils too but she didn't stop. Finally, she stopped in front of a small but well-constructed shack, the only one which was painted.

Dru walked straight up to the door, opened it and stepped into the doorway.

The interior had two small cots on the right wall. Three chests stood against the wall beside the heads of the cots, one in between the two cots and one on each side, outside the cots. The chests sat leaning back against the wall as each had a spoked wooden wheel on each side that kept them from sitting fully upright. She paid no attention to any of that. There was a small wood stove on the left wall with a metal flue leading out through the wall and a small table with two chairs in the middle too but she paid no attention to any of that either. Against the far wall, sitting on the floor in front of her was a large oaken chest. _Pa's chest._ She walked up to the table and stared across it at the aged and damaged symbol on the side of the chest. The metal symbol was dominated by three battered images engraved into it: an anchor with what appeared to be a cogwheel sitting in its middle and what appeared to be a crown overtop the anchor. _The Anchor, the Cogwheel, and the Crown. What do you mean?_ Dru quietly asked herself as she stood looking over the table. _Will Earl help me discover how to open you without damaging what's inside?_ Dru asked herself.

Dru looked down at the small table in front of her. Atop it was a small stack of parchment under a small, rounded river stone with several more stones beside it. There was also a quill pen with a closed vial of ink beside it. "Please don't be mad at me for using your parchment, O," Dru pleaded aloud to no one. She opened the small vial of ink, dipped the quill into it, and began writing. _Otto Otto, Papa came here looking for answers. He's gone now and we have to find our own answer. I've found the answer and it leads to the Tuskwater, a large lake east of the Hooktongue Slough and the Narlmarches. I don't have time to wait for you. Love, Drusada. _She quickly set down the quill and closed the ink vial, then placed the parchment under the edge of another stone.

Dru quickly moved to the wheeled chest nearest her. _First my stuff_, she said to herself as she grabbed a handle on top it. _O is so good at making these things_, she told herself as she walked it to the door. _But, most importantly, the Ossuary_, she added as she ran between the beds and grabbed the handle on top the second chest. She walked it to the door and grabbed the first chest containing her personal items with the other hand and walked out.

Standing on the walkway in front of her was Earl, looking at her with his golden eyes. _Are you real?_ Dru thought to herself. She focused on him very hard. "I thought your barge was about to leave?" she asked.

"I told him to wait," Earl answered. "He will. Come on. Let me take on of those off your hands."

Dru dragged her wheeled chest down the walk beside Earl who dragged her other wheeled chest and looked over her shoulder at her shack one last time. _You're the only home I've known in my life_, she sighed. _You're real, not like all those places I've visited in my waking dreams._


	5. 5 The Gathering chapter 4

_Braelton, newly founded settlement within the 'Stolen Lands' of the River Nations region in the year 4710 AR (Absalom Reckoning)_

The big half-orc boy stood nervously clutching the spear in his hand. He was young, perhaps thirteen years of age but was enormous, nearly six and a half feet tall and close to three hundred pounds with his black hair cropped closely to his head. He was dressed in a huge pair of coveralls held up with suspenders, the padded armor beneath easily visible on his uncovered arms and partly covered chest. Blood was on his coveralls, but it wasn't his. The boy's face was knotted with concern, his dark eyes squinted. Two tusks jutted out from between his lips. He ignored the sounds of steel clashing against steel behind him. He was focused on what was in front of him instead.

The room in front of him was small and its floor was cluttered with a ragged bed in one corner and three chests. Empty liquor bottles were scattered across the floor too. The walls were aged stone, and many were cracked. Three sconces were on the far wall. Each held a torch, dimly lighting the room. The air was filled with the smell of liquor.

And two men were squared off against one another in the small room.

The man standing just inside the doorway was tall and straight with long graying hair. A long sword was in his right hand and an unadorned shield in his left. A white tabard was draped over his body, covering the breastplate which protected his chest. On the tabard's surface was the image of a red fox standing on its hind legs with a golden orb, the sun, above it. The heraldry of House Bright. The blood spattered across it stood in stark contrast to its white field.

The other man was a sight to behold. He was tall and dressed in simple breeches with a sleeveless shirt that had leather armor strapped atop it and a chain necklace hung around his neck. His exposed arms were well-muscled with large patches of scars and in one arm he held a long sword. In the other was a buckler. But all that was hardly noticeable because of what was on his head, the Stag Helm. It was not merely a helm, but a mask which gave the appearance of the head of a giant stag. A head with a full rack of horns. One protruding from the left with nine points and one protruding from the right with seven.

"I was sleeping, you old fool," said the man with the Stag Helm.

"Brant," said the man with the white tabard. "I command you to stay clear. This is my fight."

"Yes, Sir Bright," answered the half-orc boy, but he didn't move.

"You are the Stag Lord and I challenge you today," Sir Bright proclaimed. "Challenge you for the evil you have done and for those whose lives you have taken."

The Stag Lord grunted and stepped forward, kicking a bottle away as he did. Sir Bright stepped forward too and swung across at the Stag Lord's sword, attempting to open the big man's guard for a return strike. The Stag Lord jumped back and Sir Bright caught only air.

The big man was faster than he appeared.

The Stag Lord stepped to his right, putting one of the chests between him and the knight. Sir Bright skipped forward diagonally around the chest, toward the bed, and then back at the Stag Lord. The big man struck at Sir Bright and steel blade caught steel shield. The knight quickly countered, coming three-quarters over top with his sword. The Stag Lord struck across his body with the sword in his right hand, swatting Sir Bright's blade away, then skipped slightly to his right. The knight's quick gut high follow-up was caught by the big man's shield.

But Sir Bright didn't leave the Stag Lord a chance to follow-up.

The knight drove forward shield first. The Stag Lord raised his shield in time but Sir Bright was strong despite his years and drove the big man back. The big man stepped back with his right foot just in time and braced himself at the corner where wall met floor.

_You have him now_! Brant thought with excitement.

Sir Bright violently struck once overtop with his sword. The big man's blade caught it. A second strike, waist high. The big man's shield caught it. Another violent strike overtop, caught again by the big man's blade.

The Stag Lord countered.

He slammed his shield into Sir Bright, pushing him back. He followed with a quick stroke of his blade and tore both sleeve and flesh from Sir Bright's upper arm which held the shield. Sir Bright danced back but the big man gave him no rest and danced forward too. Just as the knight's feet touched the floor, the Stag Lord slammed his shield into Sir Bright's. The knight rolled with the blow, dancing back again.

Straight back into the chest on the floor.

Sir Bright tumbled back over the chest and crashed to the floor. The Stag Lord did not slow. He stormed forward with his momentum and dropped the point of his sword down into Sir Bright's exposed throat. Blood spurted out and sprayed across the floor and onto the blanket hanging over the side of the bed. The knight dropped his sword.

"No!" screamed Brant. His legs dipped to spring forward but two arms wrapped around his waist and held him tight. He twisted and strained, throwing elbows which he felt connect with whoever was behind him. Connect to no avail as the arms didn't loosen and whatever legs were attached to them struggled to drag him back against his own legs trying to drive forward. He glanced back for an instant as he struggled. Blue eyes over a hooked nose and surrounded by long brown hair stared back into his eyes. _Galen?_ The confused half-orc snapped his head back around to the front. The Stag Lord just stood there. The big man stared at Brant with only the expressionless face of a dead stag.

Brant felt his feet slightly rise and he was moved back a half-step, then another. "Let me at him!" Brant screamed over his shoulder at Galen. Then back to the front, "I'll kill you!" The big man with the head of a deer still just stood there over Sir Bright's bleeding body.

"Calm down, boy!" screamed Galen as he dragged the big half-orc boy back another step. "Sir Bright's dead. I'm not gonna let you die today too," he snapped. "Look, Tamara's hurt real bad and Iacobus has nearly spent his magic. If we don't get out of here now, we're all dead."

"Tam needs help too?" Brant asked, relaxing his body as he looked over his shoulder at Galen.

"Yes," Galen said as he set the big half-orc down. "I need you to carry her out of here. I can't do it and fight at the same time," Galen added and drew his long sword. He nodded at Brant and half-turned but waited for the half-orc to follow before continuing. Brant glanced one last time at the Stag Lord, who was still just standing with his arms at his sides, then turned and followed Galen away.

_That seems so long ago_, Brant thought as he opened his eyes to the inside of what had been the Stag Lord's keep.


	6. 6 The Gathering chapter 5

Brant inhaled the chilly spring air. A simple blue tabard had been pulled over top his breastplate and he wore tan hose, which allowed a quick mount to his horse if needed. A long sword rested in a sheathe on his right hip.

He took a look around.

Great beams of sunlight shone overtop the walls of the broken keep and filled the small courtyard. Torch-bearing sconces on the courtyard's inner wall added a little light and warmth, but neither was needed. Though many spring days in the northern River Kingdoms were filled with rain and cold, this day contained little of either.

A small crowd of people had gathered and was fixed upon a purple clad figure in the center of the courtyard with a large black kettle between him and the crowd. His attire made him stand apart from the dull colors of the crowd around him. A long purple cloak covered his short white linen tunic. His long purple hose was stuffed into his tan leather boots. The figure's long blonde hair trailed behind him as he stepped toward the kettle and raised his hands in the air.

"And the great Stag Lord stood tall, confident in his eventual triumph!" shouted the storyteller. "But, Lord Brael is no ordinary man! Blood wept from his many open wounds and flowed down his arm onto his sword hand…but his grip remained true!" The storyteller paused for a moment and looked around. Some in the small crowd offered quiet claps. Others impatiently waited his next words. "Lord Brael challenged the Stag Lord. 'I have faced your minions and scattered them like dust in the wind,' he said. 'Now, I have come for you!'"

A murmur of applause rose from the crowd.

"The Stag Lord charged forward!" continued the storyteller. "But, Lord Brael met him, and swatted aside the blow! With one blow he lopped off the Stag Lord's arm and with a second, he took off the Stag Lord's head!" The crowd cheered. "And thus, the Stag Lord's menace was no more. The bandits were scattered and their threat vanquished!" The small crowd continued its applause and the storyteller gave a bow.

A few scattered coins rained into the large black kettle, an easy target to hit.

"But there is more," continued the storyteller.

_That's not exactly how it happened when we returned_, Brant said to himself. _Galen wasn't hurt that badly when it started and they traded some blows back and forth. But damn, Galen is good._ Brant turned from the crowd and headed to the closed door of a small building within the keep. The big half-orc opened the door and walked in.

Inside was a small chamber, lit by torches placed within the sconces on the walls. An old and scratched rectangular wooden table sat in the middle of the room, a relic of the keep's now dead former occupants, the Stag Lord and his bandits. Three individuals sat in chairs around it with a fourth chair unoccupied. _Will I ever be asked to sit there?_ Brant asked himself.

In the chair on the right sat a tall man wearing a long emerald green cloak. The man had an angular face topped with a slightly receding hairline of black hair that formed a widow's peak, but his most distinguishing feature was his eyes. His eyes were two violet orbs which marked him as having strong ties to the ancient Azlanti bloodline. _Iacobus_, thought the half-orc and uselessly nodded at the man who had already turned his attention back to a large book whose pages were spread open on the table in front of him. Although Brant expected no different, it still bothered him. He stuck his lower jaw, and the accompanying tusks, a little farther forward, and frowned. "What are you reading today, Iacobus?" Brant asked.

The man frowned and spoke without bothering to look up from his book. "This book is titled 'An End to the Age of Lost Omens, Volume One'," Iacobus answered. Then, with a bit of condescension, he added, "I have been studying this book since before we first forged our way into the Stolen Lands. Had you paid attention and could read, you would have known that."

"I can read," answered Brant. "Volume One? You've been reading that for a while. When are you going to finish it and start Volume Two?" he added with a smirk.

"When I get my hands on a copy of Volume Two to read," Iacobus answered dryly. "I believe there might be a copy in the Five Shields Library within Azurestone, in Galt. The library is owned by a trading company of the same name…a trading company owned by Dwarves. I believe that explains why it has not been destroyed by the Revolution yet." The Azlanti looked at him for a moment, then added, "Perhaps you will wish to join me when that time comes."

"I just might," answered Brant. After uttering those words, a sense of dread came over Brant. _I was born in Azurestone. That's where Sir Bright took me in off the streets._ _My Mother…_He turned his head away from Iacobus to the occupant of the second chair.

Across the table from Iacobus sat a young thin woman in loose blue robes. Slightly pointed ears poked out from under her long blonde hair and her small round face turned toward Brant to reveal almond-shaped sapphire blue eyes and a tiny nose. A golden key hung down from a golden necklace loosely wrapped around her slender neck, marking her as a priestess of Abadar, the god of Merchants. "Hello Tam," Brant said. The half-elf gave a barely noticeable smile to Brant then turned her attention back toward the third seated individual.

Brant followed her gaze to the head of the table where sat a tall man of noticeable Taldan descent. Galen Brael, the man who had dragged him away from the Stag Lord when the bandit had killed Sir Bright. The man who challenged and killed the Stag Lord upon their return to the keep he was standing in at that moment. Galen would have been considered tall by most but he was not as tall as the green-cloaked wizard sitting on his left, much less as tall as Brant. He was dressed in a light blue tunic and sat in his chair with his eyes turned down toward a stack of parchment, showing only the long brown hair on the top of his head. His hands sat on the table, one on each side of the parchment he was staring into, with his heavily muscled forearms hovering an inch above the table.

Galen looked up at Brant with pale blue eyes over a hooked nose. "Just who I wanted to see," he said. "It seems that the crowd of river folk who've gathered on the waterfront have been raising a ruckus. Since most of that crowd are half-orcs like you, maybe you could go and put a damper on them, keep them out of trouble." Galen paused, then added, "It seems our benefactors in Rostland have sent some materials and settlers down the Sellen. Someone should be there waiting when they make it back upriver this side and across the Tuskwater."

_I'm nothing like them_, Brant thought, but the words which came out of his mouth were, "Yes, Lord Brael. I'll make sure they are not causing too much trouble." He gave his best offer of a salute to Galen and then turned to walk out the chamber, thoughts churning in his head. _I'm still young, but maybe he will name me as a knight of his if I prove my worth._ His ears stayed tuned to words spoken in the chamber as he left.

"I wish we could just get rid of them," Tam said as Brant exited. "They are disorder incarnate."

"This is also the River Nations," Galen answered. "They may be a rough and tumble lot but I would rather them fighting for me than with whatever brigands decide to try and burn us out or rob us blind."

Brant kept walking.


	7. 7 The Gathering chapter 6

Brant followed the edge of Big Elk Branch as it led him to the Tuskwater. The swift running creek was shallow and wide, the clear water leaving visible the rocks scattered across its bottom. The big half-orc looked about as he followed the creek. The Big Elk ran south through a narrow lowland that lay between two long hills and emptied into an inlet of the Tuskwater. A stiff breeze blew past him on its way toward the water. Ahead on the far side of the Big Elk, near the lake's edge, Brant saw a plume of smoke in the air which led down to a fire surrounded by a small crowd of river folk, humans and half-orcs. _Looks like they're smoking some fish they caught._ Brant barely paid the small crowd a thought. His eyes and ears were turned to the near side of the Big Elk.

Chants and whoops filled his ears. They came from a crowd that had gathered on the near side of a large tent. _This must be the ruckus Galen was talking about_, Brant thought and quickened his pace. As he reached the crowd, Brant began to unceremoniously push his way through them, human and half-orc alike. They were nearly all men, river folk who worked the barges and keelboats of the Sellen River and its tributaries. Some looked askance at him for a moment, then turned their heads away. Brant was a little better than six and a half feet tall and weighed roughly three hundred pounds. And he was armed.

In short order, Brant reached the open inner ring where two shirtless half-orc men faced off against one another in the open ground.

The taller half-orc had a shaved head and was slender, almost emaciated, with his ribs showing from underneath his light green skin. Scars lined his vee shaped back and his short tusks were barely noticeable. The man he circled around was a brute of a half-orc. He was shorter, but far thicker, with muscles knotted on his forearms and biceps. His head was topped by a wild shag of black hair and two large tusks protruded from his mouth. The shorter half-orc simply turned around to remain facing the taller half-orc who circled him.

The taller, longer half-orc skipped forward and jabbed with his right hand, catching his opponent in the nose. The heavier brute wildly threw his right but the taller one had already stepped back. _I should stop this_, Brant thought, but he couldn't. His eyes were drawn to the conflict. The thicker man threw another wild punch with his right, then one with his left. The yelling around Brant grew and people began bumping into him. It meant nothing to him. He wanted to scream too, but held himself back. _I'm better than this_, he thought.

"Damn, you're a big boy," a voice said from over his shoulder. "You gonna hop in there next?" Brant ignored him.

_I should put a stop to this_, Brant told himself again. But the fight had awakened his senses. Thoughts whirled through his head as the two men danced around each other. _People crowding me makes me a mark._ Brant swung his elbows and cleared a little space.

The crowd roared as the brute threw a wild punch, easily dodged with a sidestep by the slimmer half-orc. A second wild punch. A second sidestep. The crowd roared louder. Brant's eyes caught something and absorbed it in but a moment. Two golden eyes staring at him from across the open circle, another half-orc. The shirtless half-orc had no apparent scars and was even taller than Brant, but slimmer and longer limbed. He held what appeared to be a long black iron cane. _He's the center of this_, thought Brant.

The roar of the crowd brought Brant's attention back to the opponents in the ring.

Blood flew off the brute's nose as he wildly swung again at his slimmer opponent. Swung and missed. The taller green-skin skipped forward with a left jab, again catching the thicker half-orc in the nose. The slimmer green-skin followed with his right fist but the brute ducked. Ducked into a knee. The slimmer half-orc's arms snapped forward and caught the brute behind the neck, bringing knee and head together again. And again, but the brute somehow shrugged free and to his left, the knee whipping past his face. His hand came up under his slimmer opponent's foot and upended him.

The brute pounced forward with a fist as big as a ham slamming into the face of the half-orc on the ground. The brute pounced on top of the slim one, straddling his torso. A fist to the face. And another. And another.

A stout and shirtless half-orc with a short crop of black hair and a short beard flew into the brute, dislodging him. The brute rolled onto his feet in a low stance, ready to shoot back at his new opponent who had squared off against him and remained in a low crouch.

A loud smack filled the air. Everyone froze and the crowd became quiet. All eyes turned to the source of the smack.

The tall half-orc held his iron cane tightly in his right hand and loosely in his left palm. "This fight is over." The golden-eyed half-orc looked squarely at the brute. "Kro is the judge and Kro collects the wagers. You cross with Kro, or anyone who works for me, you cross with me." The bearded half-orc who had knocked the brute over stood tall at mention of his name. The golden-eyed half-orc's grimace turned to a small smile. "Now Vors, collect your winnings and enjoy yourself," he said to the brute. The golden eyes locked with those of Brant for another moment then turned away and he walked through the crowd, but remained visible as he was more than a head taller than everyone else.

Brant looked at the slim half-orc lying unconscious on the ground with a broken tusk, then his eyes drifted back to the tall half-orc moving through the crowd. _I need to go through him to stop this._ A hand touched Brant's back. He spun around, lower jaw clinched with his tusks exposed, and grabbed his sword.

Two steel blue eyes stared up at him.

Brant froze for a moment as he looked down at the face around the eyes. A slender green-skinned half-orc girl was looking up at him and smiling, her small lower tusks barely visible. Her hair fell onto her shoulders and back in thick black braids that were long and coarse. A bone necklace hung around her neck. As Brant looked down at her, he noticed that her sleeveless white linen shirt revealed a curious tattoo on the side of her right shoulder. It was a spread-winged black eagle with red talons. The eagle's head was turned toward the front of her shoulder with a long red tongue protruding from its open red beak.

"Hi, I'm Dru," she said, drawing his gaze back to her face. "And you must be Brant Rider. People told me how big you were but I guess I had to see for myself to believe it."

Brant still stared at her, unsure of how to react. She reached her long-fingered green hand up to shake his. He stared at her hand a moment and then reached down and shook it, his huge hand engulfing hers entirely before releasing it. "How'd you know my name?" Brant asked her.

"Little guy, long black hair," Dru laughed. "Said his name is Andre."

_Should've figured Dre would try to move in on her_, Brant thought with a laugh. "Makes sense," he answered. Brant looked about the lake edge and the scattered humans and half-orcs, spreading his arms wide. "He was one of the first to show up here after Lord Brael slew the Stag Lord and we ran off his bandits," Brant said. "I gave him some food and he followed me around," he added with a shrug. Then to himself, _Where did golden eyes go?_ His eyes searched among the scattering crowd to no avail. _In the tent?_

"Who ya looking for?" asked Dru. "Earl?" Brant's eyes snapped back to her. "Big guy, gold eyes?" Dru asked. Brant nodded then returned to looking at the tent. "I came here with him two days ago and he seems to have already ordered things to his liking here on the edge of the Tuskwater," she said with a laugh.

_Came here with him?_ Brant's eyes switched back to Dru. "Is he your…"

"Ha! No," laughed Dru. "He doesn't know who he is or where he came from," she added. "I'm just trying to help him figure that out. That's what I do." Brant's head cocked to the side as he listened to her. "Help people figure out who they are by looking into their past and seeing into their dreams."

"Really?" Brant asked, his interest piqued.

"It's a gift," Dru started with a smile, then a frown formed on her face. "…and a curse." Her blue eyes stared off at nothing in the distance for a moment, then she said, "Come with me to the edge of the Tuskwater. I'm waiting on someone, my twin."

Brant opened his mouth to speak but Dru had already turned and begun walking to the Tuskwater's edge. He watched her walking away for a moment, looked over at the big tent, then quickly back to her.

Without another thought, Brant forgot about Earl and turned after her.


	8. 8 The Gathering chapter 7

In just a few long strides Brant was walking beside Dru, on her left, toward the edge of the Tuskwater.

"You've got a twin?" Brant asked as he stepped beside her and matched the pace of her short legs.

"All my life," Dru answered. "O tries to tell everybody he was born first, but he wasn't. I was." She laughed as she finished the sentence.

"O?" Brant asked. "That's an odd name."

"Not as odd as his real name," Dru answered. "Otto Otto von Kielson. The son of Otto Otto von Kielson who was the son of Otto Otto von Kielson before that and so on and so on," she finished.

"Oh," Brant uttered as he tried to contemplate the name.

"Exactly," Dru snapped back with a laugh. "O is a whole lot easier to say than Otto Otto. But my twin is O to me. To you, it's Otto Otto til I tell you otherwise."

As they continued walking, Brant's gaze turned from Dru and ahead to the water. A small rowboat was heading in with a barge trailing it. His eyes picked out the small dark-haired form of Andre working the rowboat's oars. His eyes also took note of two horses hooked to a long wagon on the barge. Several half-orcs in short breeches that barely covered their knees began wading into the water and pulling behind them what appeared to be a poorly constructed rope bridge with a loose deck of small branches.

Brant looked again to the horses with the wagon and then back to the odd wooden construction. "That bridge, or whatever it is, won't hold that weight," he said. "I don't care about the wagon or their goods, but I don't want to see good horses hurt."

Dru laughed. "The horses will just wade ashore. The wagon is a travelling forge," she added. Brant's attention quickly turned back to her, caught by the mention of a forge. "The barge is running a deep draft due to the weight," Dru said. "It'll bottom out short of the water's edge. The water the wagon will pull out into might only be a foot deep but the mud is much deeper." Dru paused, giving Brant a chance to absorb what she was saying. "That flimsy rope and wood bridge will simply sink into the mud and the wagon can then be pulled out over the decking made of branches instead of its wheels being buried in the mud beneath."

Brant, simply nodded in agreement as they approached the water's edge and stopped. He glanced over at Dru's face to see her green nose twitch. "I smell long-haired cattle," she said. She turned around and Brant followed her lead.

Two large brindle-colored highland bulls stood there, staring at him and twitching their big noses. They were harnessed to a yoke which rested between them. On the left side of the bulls stood the golden-eyed half-orc that Dru had named as Earl. He was nearly a half-foot taller than Brant and the slight incline away from the water magnified that difference in height. Earl had donned a white long-sleeved shirt with a gray vest over top it. He had donned black gloves too but still held the black metal cane as if he intended to use it. On the right side of the bulls stood the half-orc Kro, who had added a short sword to his hip.

Kro looked hard at Brant and the golden-eyed Earl looked over him too. _I guess I should do what Lord Brael sent me out here to do_, Brant thought. Earl looked like he was about to say something too.

Before any could speak, Dru broke in.

"Earl, this is Brant," she said as she elbowed the big half-orc in the ribs. "Brant, Earl," she added as she pulled her elbow out of Brant's ribs and pointed to Earl. "Earl already introduced Kro to the whole world," she laughed. "Now, I've got to go see my brother." Without another word, Dru turned and walked away from the three men and out into the Tuskwater.

Earl spoke first.

"Kro, why don't you get William and Wallace ready to help pull the wagons in," he said as he patted the head of the bull he stood beside.

"Right, boss," Kro answered. He grabbed the yolk and led the bulls between and past Earl and Brant.

_Come on_, Brant thought as the bulls passed. _I don't have all day._ He looked at Earl who was ignoring him and looking farther out into the Tuskwater. Brant turned and peered out into the lake. _Is that another barge coming? Of course, it is, _Brant realized._ It's the supplies and settlers Lord Brael said his benefactors were sending. _He turned back to Earl to find the golden eyes locked on him.

"I take it you wanted to have a talk with me?" Earl said with a smooth deep voice.

_How'd he know?_ Brant wondered. "Yes, Lord Brael sent me. He told me to take care of the ruckus. I intend to do that."

"Do you?" Earl asked.

A flash of anger ran through Brant. He reflexively stood a little taller and jutted out his tusks. "I do."

"Sounds like a splendid idea," Earl said. "By keeping these guys here and entertained, I'm keeping them out of the settlement proper, out of the big man's way." Earl flashed a small and white smile, showing his diminutive tusks. "I've already divided them up into…work gangs." Earl pointed to the makeshift bridge ramp and waited for Brant to turn his gaze to the water's edge. "For now, this will unload barges reasonably efficiently until I can place a proper dock out there in the deeper water," he said as he pointed to the farthest reach of the land out into the Tuskwater. Brant turned back to face Earl who still stood on slightly higher ground. "That's the deal I'm offering your Lord Brael. I see to an orderly and productive waterfront. I keep my men, and the riff-raff of the river, out of his way. He leaves me alone."

Earl reached his hand out to Brant who just stared at it.

Brant thought for a moment. "The fights appear to be over for now. I'll inform Lord Brael of your request," Brant said. _Why do I feel like this is a big mistake that is going to cause me endless trouble?_

"Of course, you should probably spend time down here to make sure we don't cause any trouble," said a voice from behind Brant. He looked over his shoulder to see it was Kro, standing next to the other men who had pulled the "bridge" out into the water. Not liking having his attention being drawn back and forth, Brant turned so as to give his profile to both Earl and Kro at the same time in case they would try to move on him. Kro simply smirked at him and said, "Spend some time down here keeping an eye on us," then nodded toward the waterfront.

Brant's eyes followed the nod and stopped on Dru who was standing on the barge next to a slender half-orc wearing a dark cap and who appeared made of all sharp edges. _That must be O, I mean Otto Otto_, he realized. Kro walked to the shallow water and Earl moved beside Brant, still considerably taller than the young half-orc, even without benefit of the sloping ground.

Dru and her twin hopped off the barge and Brant quickly appraised the two horses which followed them into the shallow water. Each was bay colored with short but muscular legs and long black manes. _A mare and a stallion, sixteen to seventeen hands, good stock_, he quickly surmised. The twins stopped and handed their horses off to Kro, then walked toward Earl and Brant.

Brant quickly evaluated Dru's twin as he approached. Otto Otto was wearing a navy blue, wool mariner's cap with a short visor over his close-cropped black hair. Green pointed ears stuck up on either side of the cap. _He's got Dru's blue eyes_, Brant noted. Otto Otto's face favored his human heritage as did Dru's, including the small tusks. He wore an open leather vest with no shirt underneath, revealing his green-skinned slender and muscular body. _I guess he doesn't mind the chill_. Otto Otto also wore a leather belt with a number of pouches. The twin had a long, sheathed knife strapped to his left thigh but Brant paid close attention to the weapon on Otto Otto's right hip. Only the handle was visible and it did not appear to be in line with the rest of the weapon concealed within the sheathe. _Is that a kukri?_ Brant asked himself. As the twins approached, he also noted that Otto Otto had a black eagle tattoo on his left shoulder that was a mirror of the one on Dru's right shoulder.

Dru stepped ahead of her twin with a smile on her face. "I'd like you two to meet my brother, Otto Otto," she said. "We are the von Kielson twins. O, this is Earl," Dru said as she pointed him to the golden-eyed half-orc. Earl reached down and shook O's hand. Each gave the other a silent nod. "And O, this is Brant," she added. Each shook the other's hand and gave a silent nod in a near exact repeat of the previous introduction.

Dru stepped back from the three men and clasped her hands together in front of her chest. "It looks like we are all here finally," she said with a gleam in her eye. "Well, almost all of us." The three men all turned their gazes to her, and looked at her curiously. "We've got Kro, the rake who enjoys gainful employment from the golden-eyed one while walking in footsteps he doesn't see." Dru's pale blue eyes next turned to Earl. "The splintered soul who doesn't know who he really is, but calls himself Earl today. Tomorrow? No one knows." She smiled and turned her face to Brant. "The big half-orc once squired to a Galtan knight, now a knight-errant looking for a liege." Dru turned to her right and faced her brother. "Otto Otto von Kielson, master gunsmith. My twin. The shoulder I've cried upon when I thought I couldn't take anymore." Dru looked around and her eyes darted about. "There are two more. The Builder and the Protector. I feel them here somewhere but I don't know where each is."

"And you," Brant added. _What is her role in this?_

"Yes, me," answered Dru with a hint of sadness.

"The Bone Witch," O interrupted. All eyes turned toward Otto Otto for a moment and then back to Dru.


End file.
